


Taint

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2952977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck or die scenario set within the framework of Episodes 1.08 - 1.10.  Athos receives a gift, and he and Captain Treville must learn to live with the emotional fallout that results from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taint

Even after stopping off at two or three of his favourite taverns on the slow route back to his lodgings, Athos is still drenched from the storm when he arrives home. Lighting the stub of a candle, he throws down his hat and strips out of his doublet, then looks in consternation at the bottle of cognac that is sitting on his table. It’s dusty, the intricate seal displays its provenance, and he has no memory of purchasing it.

His family income is invariably devoured by wages and taxes, and none of his comrades would have the spare funds to buy him a gift such as this. Not unless Porthos has been lucky at cards. Although Athos did help him out of a tight spot last week, involving a fifth King and a visiting Dutch emissary. Contemplating the bottle a while longer, he toys with the stopper, wondering whether it could have been Treville who’d bought it for him as a reward. The captain has been most complimentary recently concerning his ongoing mentorship of d'Artagnan.

Whatever the circumstances, it comes as a welcome gift. Today has been trying to say the least. Firstly there was the misunderstanding with his young protégé, which had led to the boy getting a beating in prison. Then there was yet another encounter with his wife, during which they’d ended up kissing and this had awakened in him needs which he’d assumed were long since dead. For a long time now, he’d been harbouring a suspicion that his sexual urges had been numbed by the overuse of alcohol, but tonight his cock had leapt to full hardness from the simple touch of a mouth against his. For a fleeting moment, he’d allowed himself to want her. To want someone.

Uncorking the bottle, he puts it to his lips and pulls at the liquid, drawing it into him and letting the liquor evaporate on his tongue. He drinks again, more deeply this time, looking for oblivion rather than savouring the taste.

The world begins to spin and he sinks to the bed, losing his legs and the power to think rationally. Something’s wrong. This confusion is happening far too quickly, but, unable to help himself, he drinks again.

A fire begins in his belly, and soon travels through his blood to inflame his loins and infect his brain with lies. It hurts, aches, throbs. His eyes sting and there’s a pressure building inside his head. He’s burning up.

Without being aware of his actions, he drops the bottle, the liquid spilling in a reddish brown puddle across the floor. He knows he should bring it with him--the cognac is tainted with something--but all he can do is escape his rooms and run from the fear, the paranoia, the ever increasing need.

His legs carry him straight to his home from home, the garrison, and once he’s safe, his limbs give up on him. He can make out Serge’s weathered face looking down at his supine self, but can’t form words well enough to explain his predicament and can feel a line of spittle leak from the corner of his mouth. 

“Cap’n,” shouts Serge. “It’s M Athos. He’s in a right state.”

“Is he drunk?” The garrison commander’s voice grows louder as he approaches.

“He’s either drunk, or he has the ague. A wise man would bet on wine being the cause of this.”

Treville’s face comes into focus, and as a flare of heat sears through him, Athos moans in despair.

“He smells of brandy.” Treville frowns. “Help me carry him to my quarters."

They haul Athos to his feet and those hands gripping his body are causing an unbearable sensation to course through him. 

“This is the very last time,” mutters Treville.

Serge laughs as they drag him up the stairs and into the chamber. “You’ve said that many a time before, M Treville.”

“There won’t be many more times I'll _need_ to say it if he continues to maltreat his body this way.”

“‘M not drunk,” slurs Athos as he’s dumped unceremoniously onto the bunk.

Serge laughs again, the echo of it diminishing as he leaves them alone, and the captain glares balefully down at Athos. “Sleep it off, you fool.”

“I‘ve been drinking, but I’m not drunk.” Athos prays Treville will listen to him. He’s feeling most peculiar. Burning hot, his head is spinning and, most shamefully, his cock is filled to bursting with blood and in agony because of it. “There was a bottle left in my chamber by someone.” He enunciates the words as clearly as he can manage. “Could it have been poisoned?”

“You idiot.” Treville sits on the bed and examines Athos closely, pulling up the linen shirt to check his torso for signs of discolouration.

Athos shivers at his touch, aches for him. As his body responds to the stimulus he can feel his consciousness slipping away.

“I’d best call for a physician.” Treville looks worried.

“Please don’t.” Athos pushes at Treville’s hand, shoving it unceremoniously downwards to cover his aching hardness. “Please don’t do that, sir,” he begs.

He’s so hot now that if doesn’t get free of his clothing then he'll expire. He tugs at the ties of his shirt and tears it off, then begins to fight with the buttons of his breeches.

“Athos, stop this, man.” 

Treville is disturbed by his behaviour, as he should be, but Athos is losing his mind and that cool, restraining hand on his body soothes him a little.

“What could bring this on?” muses Treville as he helps Athos out of his boots, breeches and undergarments. 

“I don’t know,” moans Athos, searching out Treville’s touch with his priapistic flesh. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Please help me.”

“I’ll fetch some cold water,” says Treville and promptly leaves the chamber.

As soon as he’s alone, Athos is racked with pain. Knowing that it must surely be all in his mind, he tries to exert some sort of control over his naked body, and when that fails, he reaches down with both hands to cup his balls and nurse his cock. The touch of his own burning hot skin causes more agony than relief.

“That’s it, lad,” says Treville, when he returns with a bucket and a rag. “Don’t mind me. See if you can bring yourself off.”

“I- I can’t,” says Athos. “It hurts too much.” His flesh is so engorged by now that he’s frightened he may lose his genitals from this. Not that they’ve been much use to him these past five years.

Treville slicks Athos’ hand with an oily liniment. “I’ll cool you down and you use this balm on your cock,” he says, and whilst Athos knows it’s wrong to hear such things from the mouth of his commanding officer, right now it’s a comfort to know that someone's trying to help him. 

“How long will this last?” he asks in desperation as he attempts to stroke himself, but his palm is so hot the stuff is melting, oil running off him.

“I’ve no idea, Athos,” says Treville. “Try standing. That way I can douse you off, front and back.”

Athos gets unsteadily to his feet. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Lean on me,” says Treville and when Athos does so, the captain winces. “You’re on fire. What in Heaven’s name have they poisoned you with, lad?”

He wets Athos with the ice cold cloth, draping it over his chest, shoulders and back then moving it downwards to cool his belly.

“Please,” Athos whines, and in response Treville soaks it and tentatively pats it over his hard flesh.

“Hold onto me,” the captain says in a much softer voice than usual.

The inevitable onset of shame is a thing to be concerned about when this is over, and instead Athos grips Treville and inclines his neck, letting his forehead rest against that sturdy shoulder.

“That’s it,” murmurs Treville. “You’ll be fine.” 

His hand now slippery with liniment, the captain begins a slow stroke, his cool skin directly in contact with Athos’ raging erection. It’s good and dreadful at the same time and, his knees weakening, Athos pushes his whole body into Treville and tries to force himself to spend. It’s then that he feels another erection nudging against his thigh, and dares to beg for what he is desperately in need of.

“Can you fuck me?” he mutters. The sweat is pouring off him in rivers, hot as if it came straight from the furnaces of Hell. “Fuck me, please. I need your cock in-” He gulps. “I need it in me. Please.”

Treville continues to stroke him with brutal thrusts of his hand. “I’ve never-” He looks away. “I haven’t slept with a man. I’m not certain I can.”

“Then shoot me,” says Athos, and he’s quite serious because he’s never experienced agony such as this. A festering musket wound to the guts would be preferable.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snaps Treville. “Would something else help, do you think?”

Athos collapses to the bed, clutching at his engorged erection and pressing his knuckles down onto the strip of connecting skin that can offer some access to _that_ part inside of him. It too feels unnaturally swollen, and he thrashes and claws at himself. “Try,” he begs. “Try anything. Just do something.”

Treville fumbles in the drawer and finds a thickly ridged beeswax candle. “Will this do?” he asks, showing it to Athos who is, at this point, thankfully beyond embarrassment.

Arching his back, he raises his legs. His sanity is stretched thin. He’s becoming incoherent and is slipping in and out of consciousness, the fever taking control again. He tears at his skin until Treville grabs him and binds his wrists, tethering him to the bedframe.

The candle slides in and Athos writhes on the bed, forcing the nub end against that painful, pleasurable part inside him. He moans loudly and Treville hisses at him.

“Quiet. I will not have the men know what we’re doing.”

Athos looks at him in distress. “I can’t help it.”

“Then I’m afraid I have no choice but to gag you.”

The wad of material presses into his mouth, and he lifts his head to allow Treville to knot the ends. Frightened now, he stares up at the captain.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” says Treville, leaning over him. “I’ll keep you safe and I’ll help you through this. Do you trust me?”

Athos nods. Why else would he have come here? He lies back, trying not to choke on the stifling gag, trying not to fight against his bindings. If he could calm down a little then this heat, this agony, this excruciating excitement might subside and leave him human again.

“That’s it,” says Treville, once again using that soothing voice. “Be still now, close your eyes and it’ll soon be over.”

Athos tries, he really does, but the thrust of the improvised dildo does nothing more than inflame his incensed libido. When Treville uses his hand on him, in addition to the candle, it begins to aid him, but the tingle of climax is just a speck in the deepest chasm of pain.

“This isn’t helping you,” says Treville, standing up and stripping out of his leather outer garments and small clothes. “We’ll not speak of this ever again. This never happened, Athos. It’s important to me. Do you understand?”

Athos nods again and he feels the sting of tears. He’s not certain who is the least willing here. He closes his eyes tightly, adjusting to the feel of Treville on him, and it’s been so long since he experienced the weight of a body against his that the wetness escapes his lashes.

“I’m sorry,” says Treville as he pushes in. “I’m so sorry, Athos. If I could think of some other way.”

For some reason, the heat assuages his fire and the smoothness of that column of flesh grounds him, settling his fear and feeding his desire. As the fuck progresses, Athos stops fighting against his bonds and moves with Treville in this steady, unhappy buck and thrust of bodies. 

Opening his eyes at the very last second, he spends wet against their bellies and, feeling an answering heat inside him, he watches warily as an expression of shocked thrill appears on Treville’s face.

How will they ever come back from this?

\--

The night is lengthy and surreal. Immediately after their first coupling, Treville removes the gag and bindings in hope that they might get some rest, but it's not long before the fever rages again and Athos grows incoherent with need. Unable to achieve an erection after such a short time, Treville fingers him, finally bringing him off with the full force of his fists.

"How much of the stuff did you drink?" he asks as he cleans Athos carefully and removes his gag.

"Not more than a quarter of the bottle," breathes Athos. He's certain now that it was a present from his wife, angered by his rejection of her. The more he thinks about it, the more he remembers the lingering scent of jasmine pervading his rooms.

"Then we must hope that this will be over soon," says Treville and Athos feels a deep seated sense of shame that his drinking has caused such humiliation.

"I need to use the chamber pot," says Athos quietly and once again Treville unties him.

As he watches the stream of urine flood into the porcelain bowl, he prays it will take with it whatever aphrodisiac Anne has used on him, but instead he feels the heat of fever return and crawls back into bed with his commanding officer, a worthy soldier no more.

"You will need to secure me," he says in a monotone. "I can feel it beginning."

"Sleep now," says Treville, sliding an arm across his torso. "I'll take care of things when they become necessary."

Necessity calls on three more occasions, the final time when the sun is beginning to rise, filling the room with a blush of colour.

"If it does not end soon then you must pistol whip me," begs Athos. "I do not wish anyone to discover me this in this state."

Treville is inside him again, softer than he was the first two times, büt still able to bring satisfaction with hand and cock. It's becoming less of an embarrassment and more of a routine, and Athos' only measure of relief is that the captain is able to achieve some kind of pleasure from it, albeit forced.

"We'll come to an arrangement, if needs be," pants Treville, his face screwed up from the exertion. "But let's cross that bridge when we come to it. The poison is wearing off. I no longer need to restrain you."

When it is done and they are both certain that the effects of the tainted wine are over, Athos climbs out of bed, studiously ignoring the bindings still looped through the bed frame. He washes quickly in the bucket and dresses himself as speedily as possible, whilst Treville remains turned to the wall, unwilling, it seems, to look upon him, either naked or clothed.

"Take the day off," the captain says. "I'll explain to the others that you're ill."

"I can't," says Athos. "The contest is soon and I need to be here to oversee d'Artagnan's training."

"Then we'll do as I insisted last night and never speak of this abhorrence again."

Athos withers under Treville's sudden stare. A part of him had hoped that it might not be a thing of disgust between them. "Yes, sir. Thank you for your assistance," he says, and without waiting to be dismissed, he wheels and leaves the chamber, his skin crawling with shame.

\---

D'Artagnan's training continues to go exceptionally well. The boy is a natural and Athos takes fatherly pride in his daily improvement. He cannot, however, feel the same about himself and, whilst not hitting the bottle to extremes, he remains soused in wine and misery. His wife will be the death of him. He wishes she would simplify matters and put the muzzle of a matchlock to his head then blow his sorry brains out.

"Athos, you’ve not been yourself recently," says Aramis as he perches at the benches. "All your attention goes on d'Artagnan and your own needs are left ignored."

"Which is as it should be," says Athos, watching the boy at the shooting range. "I've had my time."

"Not bloody so," says Porthos with a frown. "You're _our_ champion and would still best all of us if you'd put some effort in."

Athos smiles at his friend. "Thank you for that, but d'Artagnan must be chosen. He needs the commission."

"And some of us need the prize pot," growls Porthos, but he's not serious and Athos knows it.

When they're mustered to the parade ground, Athos is certain that d'Artagnan has performed well enough to be selected, and on hearing Treville's pronouncement that he himself will represent the Musketeers in the contest between King and Cardinal, he cannot keep his fury under control.

Thundering up the stairs, he confronts Treville in his office, charging him with deceit and glory seeking and, worst of all, failing d'Artagnan in his efforts to be made one of the King's own regiment.

Treville stares at him. "Have you finished?" he says coldly.

Athos stares back. "If you’re doing this to punish me for what happened between us, then you’re petty minded and not the man I thought you to be."

"Think whatever you want of me, Athos," says Treville, standing and leaning on his desk. "But take some pride in yourself. You're permanently drunk, you're unkempt and unwashed and, in this current state, not fit to be a Musketeer."

"You’re undoubtedly right," says Athos. "D'Artagnan, however, deserves to be one and you have robbed him of this opportunity."

Once again, Athos doesn’t wait to be dismissed, but he does, however, take heed of what Treville has said, and after a wash and brush up, spends the evening at the gaming tables with Porthos, keeping both he and his friend out of trouble.

\---

Once the day of the contest arrives, all becomes dreadfully clear. The cardinal has chosen that notorious beast of a criminal, Martin Labarge, to be his champion and Treville has sacrificed himself to save his own men from harm.

"You fool," hisses Athos. "Put Porthos or I in instead. We stand more of a chance against him than you."

"No," says Treville stubbornly. "And any further insubordination from you will result in the removal of your pauldron."

Athos glares at the captain, angry that he's chosen this path without consultation. Angrier still at the fleeting notion that it might be a way of reasserting his masculinity after their unhappy night together. "Then do what you must," he says, folding his arms, during which they exchange a single, solemn look.

The contest is a one sided affair, and Athos winces in horror as Treville is taken apart in front of his eyes. Eventually, though, it descends into a free for all, and when d'Artagnan finally bests Labarge, the boy is overjoyed to receive his commission from the king, the celebrations continuing long into the night. 

Athos cannot settle to carousing, his mind still playing tricks on him, and he ascends the staircase to find out for himself how badly Treville is injured.

He finds the captain seated behind his desk, contemplating a bottle of brandy. His arm is in a sling and his wounds have been treated and, for that, Athos is grateful. The regimental surgeon may be an ex butcher, but he's proficient at patching up soldiers. 

"All's well that ends well," says Treville, a rueful smile on his face as he pours himself a cup of brandy, declining to offer any to his subordinate.

"If there's anything I can do to be of assistance whilst you recover from this, then I'm most happy to do so," says Athos, wanting to make amends for his ill-timed and disrespectful outbursts.

"There is nothing," says Treville curtly. "Your behaviour indicates that you think this has something to do with what happened between us, but I can assure you it does not." He struggles to look Athos in the eye. "You're dismissed."

Athos leaves without another word, furious that his wife has destroyed yet another relationship that he values. How much more will she take from him before she is done?

\---

Knowing that their current job of guarding the queen, on her trip to take the healing waters of the lake, is nothing more than a way of removing him from the garrison, Athos is still at peace. He is a happy man away from the city, and his companions are overjoyed to see him so carefree as he and Porthos play-fight with d'Artagnan, in order to rough the boy up a little.

"I've noticed you're not into your cups as much as you were," says Porthos, as they spar together.

"I'm trying," admits Athos. "I've been told I was letting myself go."

"We'd never let you go anywhere," grins Porthos. "But we're proud of you all the same."

Athos feels a fierce surge of love for his brothers, even Aramis, who's embroiled in a lengthy sulk at being removed from his primary source of entertainment for such a dull purpose.

As always, in their line of work, dull doesn't remain that way for very long. The attack on the queen is sudden and unexpected and as the Musketeers split up, Porthos and d'Artagnan riding back for assistance with Aramis and Athos charged with protecting Her Majesty, it seems likely that they will not survive this escapade. Whilst not large, the band of mercenaries outnumbers them several times over.

The hilltop convent offers protection and the nuns are an unlikely but most useful ally. The brandy and beehives are a new and highly effective form of artillery, and the Mother Superior is a fierce warrior.

It is surprisingly Aramis who proves to be a weak-willed, disappointment to Athos. The discovery of him in bed with the queen, of all people, seems a foolish and unnecessary way of coping with his so called grief. He trusted Aramis and is angry that in such a time of crisis he cannot rise above his base urges.

"I cannot believe you slept with the queen," he says. "You've endangered us all with this idiocy. Do you understand the meaning of treason?"

Aramis seems surprised by his outburst. "What can I say? It happened."

"Sex does not just happen," hisses Athos.

"Not for you perhaps," smirks a red faced Aramis. "But we can't all live a celibate life. Some of us have needs."

Athos loses his temper. Aramis has no idea how humiliating it is to relinquish complete control of one's body. It is destructive, self destructive, and to speak blithely of something so ruinous shocks him, to the extent that he can no longer hold back.

"You cannot come close to comprehending how I feel and the hellish existence I lead, so don't presume to do so," he says coldly.

Aramis' mask slips and his expression turns to one of sadness. "Athos, my dear friend, I'm sorry for whatever stupidity I said. The last thing I wished to do is upset you. We will be all right?"

Athos looks out of the window with his spyglass and then glances back at Aramis, his eyebrow raised in wry amusement. "If by all right, you mean headed for certain death then, yes, we will be." He pats Aramis on the shoulder. "There's no sign of reinforcements and Gallagher's men are tunneling. We need to protect the queen."

With hindsight, the cellars are the least sensible option as a safe place, but flanked as they are, they've been left with little choice. Down to one musket ball between them, the sound of Porthos' booming voice is a gift from God. Determined to find out who is behind this plot, Athos chases after Gallagher, and as the repercussion of his shot echoes through the tunnels he stands above the dying man, little the wiser.

"What the fuck did you think you were playing at?" shouts Treville, racing up to him, out of breath.

"My job," says Athos, turning to stare at him.

Treville drags him into an enclosed niche in the wall. "You don't take off like that with one shot remaining. I thought you were dead."

"Which may have been the best thing all round," says Athos. He's tired and downhearted. The clues are all coming together and he doesn't like the picture that's forming. "I need to search Gallagher's possessions."

"Athos, listen to me," says Treville, looking over his shoulder. "I thought you were dead and, because of it, I was distraught." He lowers his voice. "Did I not prove that night I had feelings?"

"You had urges, Captain Treville," says Athos. "Do not confuse the two."

He walks away from this mess to try and clear up another bigger one. As he suspected, Gallagher's reward purse contains the signature forget me not emblem of his wife, who has been conspiring with Richelieu to assassinate the queen and, presumably, bring France under their control.

"This is the work of a dangerous woman," he says in a monotone. The most dangerous woman he's ever met and the only one he's ever truly loved. Now he has no choice but to tell them his ugly life story and hope that they won't hate him for his actions.

\---

With the queen safely returned to the unsteady arms of her husband, the Musketeers ride back to the garrison, and once inside the walls of Treville's confessional, Athos begins his tale. Standing to attention, eyes forward and focused only on the shelf in front of him, he tells the story of the unloved and unlovable Comte de la Fère who naïvely gave himself, body and soul, to a beautiful young stranger, Anne de Breuil.

"I had no idea of her deception," he says. "And when my brother Thomas tried to steer me towards the inevitable, I would not have it. Only when she murdered him to keep her secret safe, did I see her for what she truly was." He drops his gaze. "I had to have her hanged for her crimes. It was my duty. But even in death she deceived me. She escaped the noose and works now for the cardinal." 

"Milady de Winter." D'Artagnan heaves in a worried breath and as Athos turns to look at him the young man's fingers are brushing nervously at his neck.

"You know her?" he says.

"When I first came to Paris I met a beautiful woman," says d'Artagnan. "She had the scars of a rope around her neck. She asked me to avenge her and kill the man who had done this to her."

"You slept with my wife?" Athos stares at him and a crack forms as his world and his heart break in two. He has no one left.

D'Artagnan is distressed. "My father had just died. She offered me comfort."

Athos' thoughts grow wild. He looks from d'Artganan to Aramis whilst keeping his eyes clear of his commander. "Is bedding the nearest woman the only comfort you can ever think of?"

He's shaking now, devastated at having to confess his shame, broken further by d'Artagnan's own admission. A cup of brandy is thrust into his hand and he drops it in horror, memories of that bottle of tainted liquor coming back to haunt him.

"Go," orders Treville. "Leave Athos to me. Return first thing tomorrow and we'll make plans in the morning to deal with Milady de Winter and Cardinal Richelieu."

"But, Captain Treville," says Porthos, his voice laden with worry.

"I'll look after him," says Treville. "I know a little of his family situation. Talk this over amongst yourselves and we'll meet in the morning to discuss matters."

Athos hears and comprehends this, but he cannot participate in the conversation. Slumped against the wall, he can only think of his own suffering and long for it to be over. Footsteps tell him that the others have gone, but he cannot look up, even at the touch of a hand on his arm.

"You are not alone."

"I am, and am destined to be always," says Athos. Everything he holds dear is inevitably ruined, so why should he bother with attachments.

Treville sighs deeply, and Athos has a feeling the captain would like to tell him off for his uncharacteristic display of dramatics, but is too kind to do so.

"Did your wife leave the poisoned brandy for you?" the man says instead.

"I believe so," says Athos. "She approached me that night, offering a reunion, as such, and I rejected her advances. I visited a taproom or two on the journey home and she would have had plenty of time to plant it at my lodging house."

"Then we have both been betrayed," says Treville, narrowing the gap between them and tightening his grip on Athos' arm. "You by your wife, and I by my feelings."

"I have told you not to be swayed by your urges," says Athos in a dull voice.

"Having you in my bed, bound and vulnerable, awoke something in me," says Treville quietly. "It is there in you also. You came to me when you were in trouble. You didn't turn to Porthos or Aramis for help."

The thought had not even crossed Athos' mind, and now that it has been pointed out to him, he is surprised by his own actions and the extent of his emotions. Porthos and Aramis are brothers to him, the best of friends, but Treville is safety: something deeper and warmer, more secretive than friendship.

He looks up to see tenderness in the captain's eyes and is no longer afraid. "It is true," he says bluntly.

"I value you," says Treville. "I didn't realise how greatly, or in what way until I had you in my bed. It became ever more clear to me when I believed that I had lost you."

The moment for words is over. With neither thought nor heed for anything other than this insuppressible desire for each other, they latch on tightly and kiss, taking huge, hungry mouthfuls whilst moaning out their need.

This time, Athos fights with the buttons on Treville's clothes rather than his own, and afterwards, he allows himself to be stripped, enjoying his deep seated ache for this particular man, above all others. When he holds up his wrists to be bound, he is doing it in the happy knowledge that it excites Treville. And when they couple and then come together eagerly, he knows that there will soon be a next time, but it will arise from the need to give and seek pleasure, rather than an all consuming desperation for sex. 

In gifting him that tainted cognac, Anne has indeed taught Athos a lesson, however it was not the one she was intending him to learn. He has, instead, discovered that in the heart of trust can be found a wealth of unexpected love, and, whatever tomorrow might bring with it, he will no longer be alone.


End file.
